Plans
by Schism-ism
Summary: I like Nagi and,seeing as there next nothing known about him, I thought I'd have a crack at giving him a back story.
1. Chapter 1

**1**

The first life Nagi Naoe took (snatched, stole) was his mother's. It was his fault he knew, had been told as much, and he was sorry, so _very_ sorry. He had a family, he must have, but they were gone. They'd cast him out, forgotten him, or died. He'd thought about it enough that it didn't much matter anymore. What mattered was spending the next few years finding food and a place to sleep, getting clean enough that the stench of his own body filth didn't repulse him. What mattered more was staying out of reach of the people that muttered 'witch boy' when they saw him huddling on street corners, or keeping away from the few children that weren't afraid to beat the crap out of him. He could defend himself. He could make the walls shake. He could use that invisible whatever to keep them away, but that always caused more talk. It made it harder to find someone that had enough heart to give him scraps to eat.

Things happened during that time. _Unpleasant_ things. While he wasn't at all deluded enough to think he was still an innocent, he still didn't like to think of killing people. He did it and he did it well. It wasn't fun. The killing happened by accident at first. Well-fed bullies clad in private school uniforms decided to have a go at him, one day. It started out normal enough, if you could call it that, and almost nothing he couldn't handle by curling up in a ball . . . Until one of them pulled out a knife. He was mesmerized by the gleam of it, by the malicious grin of the girl that brandished it.

She was going to _kill_ him.

He knew it. He could feel it. The sun would set and rise again and he wouldn't be there to see it, because he'd be dead like he should've been long before he would've ever had the chance to meet her.

Nagi didn't want to die.

So out of that panic that came with self-preservation, he'd done it. She (Mari) and her friends had been smashed into the nearest wall. Mari seemed to hit the hardest. He heard a loud crack and the knife fell from her hand and skittered, gleaming in the remaining sunlight. Mari's eyes were still open. Mari had blood dripping from her head. Much too much of it. Mari's friends were screaming and tugging at her and Nagi was reaching for the knife and running. It was funny to think on it now. He'd grabbed the knife and was nowhere near needing it. He supposed, later, that it made him feel safe . . . _normal_. It was easier, and much less unsettling, to threaten people with a weapon they could see.

That was when Nagi left the only home he'd ever had.

He was eleven.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Fast forward four years and enter a well-fed Nagi with a home. He was still small and quiet and a freak, but the latter could be counted for most of his company. Nagi had been taken in by Brad Crawford and, on a larger scale, Eszett; a powerful organization specializing in the gathering of those with supernatural "talents", no doubt with their own nefarious plans woven in. Something along the lines of world domination. Nagi didn't particularly care, as long as he was on the side that gave him the least trouble.

However, upon his introduction into Schwarz, Nagi was a little less flippant. Crawford had found him squatting in and abandoned building. It was daytime. Nagi didn't go out much during the day. A clever plan it'd seemed , until Brad found him. Crawford had a way of looking at people as if he were harvesting a crop. Calculating every aspect of their existence (or lack thereof) that might benefit him. i _Because the best butchers wear Armani /i ,_ Nagi thought caustically.

With that gaze fixed on him, he was truly afraid for the first time in... years.

Not much more time for analogies, though because Crawford was talking. It seemed imperative that Nagi listen and, while it was nothing so blatant and cliched as Crawford 'making him an offer he couldn't refuse', he knew he didn't have much of a choice. In fact, he was being talked to as if he'd already agreed to whatever terms and stipulations his full belly and warm bed would come with.

Nagi was telekinetic. He was going to be trained to "utilize" his ability. He was going to be part of a team when his training had finished. Who with? That would be disclosed at a later date. (Nagi had taken that to mean Crawford didn't actually know yet. Everything _was_ funnier in retrospect.) Did Crawford have an ability? Yes. What was it? Foresight. Fore-what? The future. He could see the future.

He'd had a sudden metal image of Crawford dressed as a fortune teller.

This was enough questioning, he'd been told. It was time for him to make a decision. Would Nagi go and be cared for as he never had been, or would he stay and hide the way a roach hides from the light?

Crawford smiled (it was more of a smirk really) but it didn't reach his eyes.

Nagi's eyes narrowed and his face went blank.

"I'll go."


	3. Chapter 3

**3**

Following Crawford was like crossing the Bridge of Sighs. Nagi got the overwhelming feeling that a door was closing behind him. It was slamming shut behind him and would soon be bolted shut. Barricaded.

"Where are we going?" Nagi mumbled. He wasn't used to talking out loud much, but wanted distraction badly. He wouldn't get it, though. Crawford ignored every question asked. All three of them.

He wanted to say something childish. He wanted to say "I hate you" as loud as he could. It occurred to him as they reached their destination (an overly expensive and extravagant hotel) that he wasn't supposed to like his new guardian. Obey him, yes. Respect him, as much as anyone could. But like him? It was neither required nor needed.

Crawford was a walking lesson.

As they stepped inside and went to Crawford's room, Nagi did his best to make himself invisible. Eyes clung to him as he walked through the lobby. He was quite the sight: all skin and bones and rags for clothes. There were whispers and giggles and open stares.

_Stop. Stop looking at me. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it_

That was when the loss of control happened. Things, glasses and plates, started to break. The air tinkled with their shattering and the sound of women gasping theatrically.

Nagi was still walking, albeit a little slower, but was shaking now. Crawford kept his pace as if nothing happened. In fact, one might have guessed he was all but deaf and blind from the way he ignored the chaos. He didn't utter a word to Nagi until they were inside his room, the door closed: nowhere to escape.

Crawford hit him. It hurt, though it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. There was no yelling or screaming or other admonishment, just that display of physical abuse. Nagi's eyes watered but he didn't cry. He hiccoughed once before swallowing whatever it was that made him want to curl in on himself.

"You will wash and eat. When you're finished, we'll see if you can't do something about your total lack of control," Crawford said, his voice hard.

Nagi nodded once.

Lesson learned.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Crawford's teaching of "control" was like meditation under threat of pain. Something like "relax and breath, or I'll shoot you." There were other remotely sage-like things mixed in. There were references to superiority. What they were capable of transcended the boundaries of normal men. It was a game of power and learning to utilize it.

It was a game.

Interaction at the "learning facility" he was being sent to would be a game among peers.

Being thrown into a wall by his teacher, Ms. Elyke, as part of the lesson plan would be a game among superiors.

Beating Lares insert last name here at everything worth doing would be a game of rivalry.

And he would win.

Every time.

Nagi came out of those experiences as a monosyllabic boy with a fondness for describing everything as 'tolerable'.

There was no reason to complain when the beds wouldn't get any softer, the food any more palatable, the people any nicer.

Acceptance was key.

It was why he didn't deign to respond to . . . ignorant comments.

It wasn't worth it.

_Breathe in. _

People would say and think what they wanted regardless of what he said.

_Breathe _out.

After all, there were better ways of getting what he wanted, Nagi new this to be fact.

And he would.

He would get everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Nagi's last day at school was like all the others. Well, it'd started out that way. He woke up, performed all the hygienic duties he couldn't quite keep himself from marveling over, got dressed, and left for breakfast. At least, that's what he planned to do. As he opened the door, he was met with a suit or, more specifically, someone in a suit that turned out to be Brad Crawford. Nagi looked him in the eye and blinked once while Crawford continued to stand there expectantly.

"Yes?" He asked softly.

Crawford adjusted his glasses and said, "It's time."

"Is it?" Nagi couldn't keep the barest hint of amusement out of his voice. It was interesting how anticlimactic this was.

Raising an eyebrow, Crawford nodded. "Yes. You'll meet the other members of my team and receive your first orders."

He inclined his head slightly. Other members of_his _team. Nagi didn't miss that possessive phrasing, sensed that he wasn't meant to.

"What about my things . . . ?" Nagi asked. Having to leave so abruptly was . . . bothersome.

"Clothes and other necessities will be provided for you. Follow me," Crawford hesitated slightly, "Please." He turned to leave and Nagi followed obediently. That 'please' had meant 'now'.

He walked down the hall, eyes glued to the back stitching of Crawford's suit.

A few of the younger students stopped to stare. He heard someone whisper "father" and resisted the uncharacteristic urge to laugh. His father was probably drunk or, more appropriately, dead. It made sense, and he'd had long enough to think about it. Wasn't that what happened to people that miserably weak and pathetic?

Walking with Crawford reminded Nagi of the first time and how much things had changed. How much _he_ had changed. He didn't feel apprehensive or afraid. On the contrary, he had this overwhelming sense of rightness. So many things in his life had been transient. But this? This had the taste of something that would follow him forever. This was another one of those defining moments, the kind that speeches were made about.

There was no reason to be scared because he knew exactly what was expected of him and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he could do it.

It almost tasted like destiny.


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

The way to Tokyo, to home, was convoluted enough for Nagi to stop caring about how they were getting there after the first three hours.

A car ride, a plane ride, and a longer car ride later they were pulling up in front of an office building. The car was black with heavily tinted windows. It was, apparently, all important to see but not be seen.

Nagi rather liked that idea.

He wasn't meant to be seen.

He didn't want to be.

The building was much the same as the car. It was a box of shiny, black, nearly opaque glass that reflected the pale blue sky and a few scant clouds. The inside of the building was gray and sterile. It was lit by golden toned florescent lights in a failed attempt to add warmth.

They went straight to the elevator without talking to the receptionist and into the elevator that played a Muzak version of "Moon River" that they were made to suffer through for seven floors. Once at the eighth floor, Crawford walked down a seemingly endless hallway as Nagi followed. Crawford hadn't spoken to him since they'd left the school and hadn't looked at him since they'd taken their second car ride.

It was starting to wear, however mildly, on Nagi's nerves.

They stopped abruptly at a door that looked the same as all the others' they'd passed. It was wooden, polished and utilitarian. Amazing the things he remembered. Insignificant details that seemed to thrum with hidden meaning. Utilitarian, a tool, he was a tool to be utilized.

Opening the door revealed a conference room and his new . . . teammates.

In a chair in the corner farthest away from the door, in the right corner there sat a man with silver-gray hair. He was bent over in his chair, peering at Nagi and Crawford from underneath is eyelashes. He was also wearing a straightjacket. Nagi raised one eyebrow slightly and the left side of his mouth lifted slightly before going blank again.

About three feet from Nagi sat the other man. He was dramatically different by comparison, but just as volatile looking. He was tall. Not Japanese, but then neither was anyone else in that room besides Nagi. Bright orange hair restrained by a headband. And he dressed... odd.

"This is Schuldig and Farfarello," he heard Crawford say.


End file.
